


The Good Idea That Isn't.

by Tulikettu



Series: Off-Script [2]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Adultery, Blake is a very understanding wife, Chris Pratt is a bro, Kinda?, M/M, Open Relationship, Stupid Feelings, golden globes, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 14:46:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10642065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tulikettu/pseuds/Tulikettu
Summary: They should totally kiss anyway, where would the harm be?Andrew wants Ryan a lot more than he should.Ryan wants Andrew a hell of a lot more than he should, especially since his wife is like, right there.Blake isn't stupid, just cos she's beautiful.Maybe sometimes things are better left alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've written and re-written the kiss scene about nine gajillion times and I'm still not satisfied with it. I'm barely satisfied with any of this, but I'm just going to write myself in a circle if I keep on going. Just colour me displeased and be gentle if you comment. 
> 
> Additionally*, I love Blake. I think she's awesome, I love her and Ryan together, they're a stupidly perfect couple. She's going to crop up again in future episodes, being awesome.

 

"Well, one of us is going to have to change," Andrew says softly, resting his hand on Ryan's shoulder as he moves up beside him, admiring his tux. A little bit classier than Andrew’s, sure, and he looks so good in it and smells amazing, and Andrew is so sure he's schooled himself against all of these thoughts the last few days. Except the hour each night when he's- yknow.

 

"Hey, man, good to see you," he greets properly. Play it cool. Play it cool. Is his hand okay on Ryan's shoulder? He hasn't lifted it off. Ryan hasn't moved away. Is Andrew staring at him too fondly? Is he making this too awkward? Has Ryan decided they’re going to pretend nothing has happened? The days since their, um, text conversation have passed without it being mentioned. Ryan has resumed messaging Andrew about Deadpool and Spider-Man, thrown in one or two comments about his acceptance speech, and sent Andrew a voice message of him trying to do a British accent. There’s been no reference to anything else, no ‘hey, last night was fun’. But then there’s been no ‘we’ll never speak of this again’, either. Perhaps that’s supposed to be left unsaid?

 

Andrew glances away, his hand falling back to his side when he notices that Ryan seems to be alone. "No Blake?" he asks with a genuine frown, and a slight panic. The presence of Ryan's wife is meant to be his Very Good Reason To Not Do Anything Remotely Flirtatious for the whole night. His safety buffer. "Guess you are going to have to kiss me if you win, then." Wow, he couldn't even last three seconds?

 

“She’s over there,” Ryan grins, nodding in the direction of a little gathering of beautiful women. One of whom Ryan is married to. “She was supposed to be keeping me company until my date showed up, but I guess she has more important things to do.” Andrew is a great bumbling ball of adorableness, and Ryan can’t stop looking at him. “But you’re here now.”

 

Andrew turns to look at him again, his lovely brown eyes so full of uncertainty. He’s nervous. He’s nervous to be around Ryan, and honestly, Ryan can’t blame him. But Andrew is probably more likely to be scared about what Ryan might do to him next. For Ryan it’s the opposite; he’s genuinely concerned about what he might want to do to Andrew. This man has haunted his thoughts for three days, has driven him to complete distraction, and even now he just can’t help himself.

 

His hand comes to rest on Andrew’s backside, a friendly little pat that desperately wants to turn into a grope. “Come on, let’s go find our seats and take more complimentary alcohol than we’re allowed.”

 

Andrew follows, because he desperately needs that complimentary alcohol, and also because he apparently can’t say no to this man. He isn’t going to bring up the kiss again, because that lead them into some very uncharted territory last time, and right now Andrew feels as though he’s successfully got his head above the water. He has no intention of having Ryan hold him under. 

 

They walk in together, and Ryan’s hand somehow finds it’s way to the small of Andrew’s back, steering him gently through the crowd. The crowd of people they know. People who greet them both with hugs and kisses and hellos as though seeing the two men together, as though Ryan’s chivalrous touch on the back of someone he is very much not married to is completely routine.

 

Andrew has two glasses of wine in his hand before they reach their table, but Ryan’s hand has remained stubbornly in place. He _ is _ necking his drink, though, swapping his empty glass for a full one when they pass a tray. His hand only moves from Andrew’s back once they reach their destination and then it’s to pull out the other man’s chair, giving him a little wink that makes Andrew’s knees weak. Dammit. 

 

Opening his mouth, Andrew decides quickly that any words he might be about to utter are going to be totally inappropriate. Like ‘so will Blake not mind you bringing me in here like you’re actually married to me?’ and ‘about that kiss I mentioned’ and ‘the way you look at me gives me these butterflies, Ryan-’

 

He turns his attention to the running order they’ve been provided with, flicking through just for something to do. Ryan’s name catches his eye more easily than his own. Ryan’s name, and Emma’s. 

 

Heaving a sigh, Andrew risks a look around the room to see if he can see her anywhere. Not that it matters if he does, he’s not going to go over and speak to her-

 

“Urgh, geez, look at these guys-” Ryan says beside him, drawing Andrew’s attention back. 

 

“Hm?”

 

Ryan smooths out his running order and leans in closer to Andrew. It’s a good excuse to move in, to see how close he can get without Andrew being too uncomfortable. The hand on his back had been a test, the playing at a couple had been a continuation, and now that they’re alone at a table with two glasses of wine in them, Ryan wants to see how much he’s allowed to get away with. 

 

He’s been looking at the list of nominees up against him. And their films. Deadpool was out so long ago, he doesn’t really think he stands a chance. 

 

“I’m glad I didn’t have a speech prepared, that would have been a waste of time,” Ryan snorts. He will be disappointed, of course he will, but Deadpool has had a great year. He’s had a great year. “Guess I’m not going to get to kiss you when I win.”

 

“You could just kiss me anyway,” Andrew says, so surely, so out of the blue but so confident. His eyes are fixed steadily on Ryan’s, and it’s possibly the hottest thing Ryan’s heard in like, three days. He opens and closes his mouth, shifting on his seat, their knees bumping under the table. Bumping, rubbing, calves pressing against each other. He doesn’t know how to respond, because his brain is very keen that they just start kissing now, but that’s wrong. That’s- that’s not okay. But they will. He just has to wait. They’re going to kiss, it’s going to be dressed up as a joke, he doesn’t need to think about it after that-

 

Andrew doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, why he’s making such bold suggestions, or why Ryan’s suddenly very flustered expression and the heat of their legs pressed together beneath the table makes him want to climb into Ryan’s lap. Perhaps because he’s already tired of this nervousness around the other man. He’s tired of his feelings being in control of him rather than the other way round. Two glasses of wine have been very helpful in his decision making. 

 

Ryan’s gaze drops heavily to his lips, and Andrew wets them with the tip of his tongue. He thinks he feels Ryan’s leg twitch against his under the table, and there’s a small, breathless moment when the rest of the room ceases to exist. 

 

Ryan feels it too.

 

Both of them snap back into the present moment when Blake pulls out her chair and floats into her seat, reaching over to give Ryan’s hand a little squeeze. She doesn’t seem to be concerned that he’s so much closer to Andrew than he is to her, and she greets Andrew with a brilliant smile and a happy hello. 

 

Ryan has a really beautiful wife. Andrew can’t help but smile back at her; it’s not her fault that he fancies her gorgeous husband. What business do two such attractive people have being with each other, anyway? It’s not fair.

 

Andrew doesn’t react when Ryan scoots his chair closer to Blake, and the two of them begin talking to each other quietly, their faces alight with their affection for each other. He reaches for another glass of wine, his eyes on the entranceway, watching other people arrive. 

 

“-do you think, Andrew?”

 

“Andy?”

 

“Hm?” he starts, turning to look at the couple. Andy? Ryan had called him Andy. 

 

“I was just saying-” Blake starts gently, then gives Andrew a more questioning look. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” Andrew nods. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

 

Blake hums a little noise like one Emma used to make when she didn’t believe him. Ryan watches his reactions, not warily, just with interest. 

 

He’s saved from any further questioning by the lights in the room dimming. Blake and Ryan are lit up perfectly by the table lamp, and Andrew feels lonelier than he has in months. 

 

***

 

“-Ryan Gosling-”

  
  


Ryan, _ his _ Ryan, reaches for him. He doesn’t even fake going for Blake. As applause rings around them Ryan’s hands cup Andrew’s face gently, and for a split second they’re simply gazing at each other, eyes locked, before Andrew realises that he, too, is in on the joke.

 

His fingers skim up Ryan’s jaw and their lips meet. He doesn’t know how much Ryan intends to happen, if he had a plan beforehand, but the little peck that Andrew is anticipating lingers a lot longer. It’s gentle but firm at the same time, insistent, like a real kiss. Like they want it. Certainly Andrew feels a swoop in his stomach, and that has nothing to do with the cameras that might be focussed their way, but everything to do with the way the other man’s lips feel against his own. Ryan leads but he isn’t forceful, at least not where their lips meet. His hands are determinedly holding Andrew in place, though, fingertips buried in Andrew’s hair. Neither of them are aware of anything other than the other’s lips and how it feels to be kissing. How they’re both still there, not pulling back, even when Andrew dares to touch his tongue against Ryan’s just for a second. If anything, Ryan’s fingers flutter, grip slightly harder for that second, and Andrew hums very quietly.

 

But they do pull back. Eventually. Ryan is beaming, flushed, a softness in his expression that brings a huge smile to Andrew’s face.

 

“Worth not winning?” Andrew asks, both of them still touching, heavy breaths filling the scant space between them. He feels the rasp of stubble under his fingertips, the skin of his cheeks tingling where it had brushed there, too. 

 

“Totally worth it,” Ryan laughs softly, his expression almost bashful. 

 

Andrew’s heart aches. It aches, and yet he is laughing too. Their hands leave each other slowly, fingers dragging over skin, eyes lingering as they part.

 

Then he has to look away.

  
  


***

 

Blake’s fingers against the back of his hand seem chilled compared to the heat that Ryan feels in the rest of his body. His eyes remain on Andrew for a fraction of a second after her contact, long enough for him to see that lovely smile begin to fade. But his wife is smiling too, fondly, laughter in her eyes when she gives his fingers a little squeeze.

 

“Dork,” she mouths affectionately, leaning in to bump against him. 

 

Ryan Gosling is speaking, accepting his award. Ryan can’t hear anything. 

 

This had seemed like a good idea, right up to the time it isn’t. Already he can feel the consequences of his self-indulgence, the heavy thudding of his heart, the foggy, warm feeling that is flowing through his body, the hunger for so much more from Andrew. His brain digs up memories of three nights passed, of Andrew’s cock, his hand moving over it, the whimpers and the noises and the impossible promises they’d made, drunk on lust.

 

He glances at Andrew again, watching the other man gazing at the Ryan on stage. His expression is blank. But he, the more awesome Ryan, keeps the smile fixed stubbornly on his face because he knows that cameras could be on him again at any point.

 

Beneath the table his leg inches over, pressing against Andrew’s, ankle to knee. There’s a moment when Andrew’s leg moves away, and Ryan doesn’t know why it makes him feel sick. Momentarily, the alcohol - those two meagre glasses he’d allowed himself just in case he had to wing a winning speech - threatens to expel itself from his stomach. 

 

Then Andrew’s leg is there, pressing firmly back, the heat radiating through the fabric of his trousers.

 

But Andrew doesn’t turn even slightly. 

 

Blake’s fingers are lacing with his.

 

Ryan can’t stop thinking about the searing touch of Andrew’s tongue on his lips. He can still feel the fingers on his jaw, feel the way they both lingered in the kiss, neither of them trying to pull back. His pulse jumps. 

  
  


“I’m going to the bathroom,” Andrew says softly, absently, standing and meandering his way through the tables full of increasingly inebriated people. He’s going to need to neck a few more glasses before he’ll feel anything other than whatever this emptiness is. His leg pulls away from Ryan’s, and he sees the other man watching him, a frown on his face. Andrew doesn’t have it in him to care about why.

 

“Go after him,” Blake whispers, making Ryan jump, though absolutely not because he’s forgotten she’s there.

 

“What?” For a wild moment he thinks she’s telling him to follow Andrew to the bathroom so that he can live out the fantasy that has rapidly played through his mind involving, in some way, his mouth all over the other man.

 

“He’s probably upset about Emma,” Blake explains patiently. “She was Ryan’s co-star-they were just showing-”

 

Ryan blinks at his wife, the message slowly sinking in.

 

“Oh,” he says finally, standing up. “Oh, yeah.” That’s fine. Blake is a smart woman. Andrew is upset about Emma, he probably misses her and has had to watch clips of her and another man all night, yet here Ryan is, thinking about kissing him again. Maybe Blake knows that, as well. The look she is giving him is very similar to her ‘and keep it in your pants’ look. Not that he’s seen that a lot. Not that he’s ever needed to be reminded before.

  
  


Andrew is braced against one of the sinks, staring down into the depths of the plug hole. He doesn’t know what these feelings are now, all of these sudden, painful, wonderful feelings. His leg is still warm from its contact with Ryan’s. He feels a lot drunker than he probably is.

 

The bathroom door opens, but Andrew doesn’t look up. It’s a public bathroom at an award show, he can hardly stare accusingly at someone walking in on his crisis. It’s only when he hears each stall door being gently pushed open does he glance up, frowning. 

 

Ryan is beside him.

 

Andrew’s heart skips.

 

“Blake says it’s because of Emma-” Ryan says in a rush, with no other explanation for his presence.

 

“What?” Andrew’s frown deepens, and he shakes his head as though those words don’t make any sense in that order.

 

“She says you’re sad because of Emma-”

 

“Emma?” Andrew asks, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, his confusion increasing. “What? Why does-? What does she think has to do with Emma?”

 

Ryan glances over his shoulders towards the door. They’re alone. Another award is being announced and no one is going to come strolling in here for a moment. He steadies himself for a second before reaching for Andrew the way he had done before, his hands cupping the other man’s face, pulling him gently forwards until their mouths meet again. For a second Andrew’s body is rigid. Ryan knows he’s risking going back into the awards ceremony with a bloody nose, but then Andrew seems to melts into him, his fingers inching delicately up the sides of Ryan’s face and into his hair.

 

Ryan whimpers, a noise he’s sure he’s never made before in his life, parting his lips, urging Andrew to do the same. Their tongues meet, both of them sighing out breathy moans at the heat that washes over them. Without warning, Ryan shoves Andrew back, their mouths still joined, pressing him up against the cold, tiled wall. Andrew puts up no resistance at all, only edges his knees apart for Ryan to stand closer. Their bodies are flush against each other, both very aware of the matching pulses between their legs, until the necessity of breathing pulls them apart. 

 

“I wanna take you home with me,” Ryan whispers, close enough that their lips continue to touch. “I wanna take you home, I wanna strip you out of your clothes, I wanna put my mouth on every part of you.” He’d hoped kissing would be enough, he’d hoped, desperately, that it would sate his hunger for this man, but it’s had the complete opposite effect. He wants more. He wants everything. 

 

“You have a lot to teach me,” Andrew replies, kissing the side of Ryan’s mouth. “I paid for my lessons. Need to see if I’ve got it right-”

 

“You gonna get on your knees for me?” Ryan asks, moans, rocking his hips forward to press his hardening cock against Andrew’s hip. “Suck me off?”

 

“I wanna know what noises you make,” Andrew replies. “I want you to scream my name.”

 

“Baby, believe me, it’ll be all I can remember-” Ryan pants, wondering if he can drag Andrew into one of the cubicles and jerk both of them off, or if he’s going to have to go back out there, both of them have to go back out there, hard and aching. 

 

They leap apart without thought as the bathroom door opens, though neither of them think for a moment that they look innocent. 

 

“Gentlemen,” Chris Pratt smirks at them both, an absolutely devilish smile on his face before he turns towards the urinals. “Having a good evening?”

 

Ryan knows that Chris isn’t going to mention this to anyone, he’s a good man, but he’s not going to stand here and wait for the other man to leave so they can carry on. And Andrew deserves a little bit better than grinding against a bathroom wall. His fingers close around the other man’s wrist, and he leads him back towards the main room. The sound of chatter and background music is loud enough that Ryan feels safe talking quietly as they return to their seats, because they won’t be overheard. 

 

“You have a hotel room or something?” he asks quickly. “I- can I come back with you? For- I just wanna-”

 

Andrew gapes at him. He’s still dazed from the kisses in the bathroom, painfully aware of how hard he is, and now sure he must have passed out because Ryan is talking quiet seriously about them sneaking off to hook up in Andrew’s hotel room. The ache in his chest has gone, replaced by a recklessness that tells him to invite Ryan back, to rip his tux off, to send him back to his wife with the smell of sex all over him. And he doesn’t feel any guilt. It’s not his place to manage Ryan’s marriage. 

 

“Yeah, hotel room,” Andrew says. “Do you really want to?”

 

“Of course I want to,” Ryan says, looking at Andrew as though deeply offended at being questioned. “We can- Between the show and one of the after parties. We can-for a while,” Ryan rambles slightly, his tone desperate, which sends shivers through Andrew. Shit, he can’t remember the last time anyone wanted him this badly. “Say we’re going to pick up...something, something of yours. Or- I dunno, I don’t know, but we can- we have to. I need you.”

 

“Yeah. Yes,” Andrew agrees, voice rough at all the pleasant thoughts Ryan’s words have given him. He’s not allowing the potential consequences to pour cold water on the simmering fire in his chest. 

 

The stage lights come back up just as they reach the table again, and once more Ryan chivalrously pulls out Andrew’s chair before dropping back into his own seat.

 

Blake’s hand moves for Ryan’s habitually, smiling at them both. “Bit better?”

 

Ryan honestly doesn’t know if she can read his mind, if she knows what his actual intentions were when he followed Andrew, and if she knows he acted on them. If she does, she makes no move to chastise him. She doesn’t seem pissed off. She radiates affection, and even gives Andrew a warm smile. 

 

He nods his head, though, squeezing her hand whilst his leg seeks Andrew’s again. “Fine. Everything’s fine.” 

Andrew seems to have visibly relaxed beside him, his eyes on the host, a genuine smile on his face. Ryan doesn’t feel bad yet. He doesn’t know when that’s going to kick in, possibly once he’s finally satisfied, once all of his attention isn’t focussed on Andrew and he can think clearly again. 

  
  
  


“We can get a car to the hotel, then you can get a cab to the party,” Andrew says quietly a while later, voice hidden under the protection of drunken laughter and music. Blake has excused herself to the bathroom, and he and Ryan are alone at their table. It’s the first thing they’ve said to each other since they got back to their seats, and Andrew has had another two drinks in that time, so he doesn’t mind throwing those words out, doesn’t mind working on the assumption that Ryan still wants to be alone with him, despite all the time he’s had to calm down and think about it. 

 

“You’re not coming to the party?” Ryan asks with a frown, leaning forward from his more relaxed position to bring himself closer to Andrew. “You gonna make me feel like a booty call?”

 

Andrew lowers his voice just a little more, making sure the words are just for himself and Ryan. “Call me old fashioned, but I don’t know if I can face taking you home, getting you off, and then going to a party with your wife.”

 

He expects Ryan to flinch at that, but the other man just smiles gently, apologetically. “I understand. I’m sorry-”

 

Again, Andrew thinks, it’s none of his business what the two of them do with their marriage, what they do behind closed doors. If Ryan doesn’t feel the need to be concerned about their behaviour then _ he  _ is certainly not going to be. 

 

Ryan’s attention swings over Andrew’s head for a second, a different smile taking over his expression. Andrew can smell Blake’s perfume, and he’s sure she’s the only person Ryan could look at like that. 

 

“I’m gonna go back with Andrew… for a bit. To his hotel,” Ryan says, standing up and reaching for Blake’s hand. “I’ll come on to the party afterwards.”

 

_ Afterwards _ ? Andrew is a reasonably good actor, he thinks, but even he’s finding it hard to not cringe and look at Ryan with incredulity at how unsubtle he’s being. Maybe that’s how they do, but he thinks maybe there could have been a bit more of a cover.

 

Ryan agrees. His brain isn’t functioning on an appropriate level right now, and Blake is looking at him as though she’s disappointed he didn’t even try. She looks at Andrew- who has managed to not smack himself in the face and bury his head in his hands- then looks back at Ryan, her eyebrows raised. 

 

“Okay,” she says, her voice calm and level, leaning in and up to press a kiss to Ryan’s cheek. “Use protection. No love bites,” she whispers into his ear, squeezing his hand and then waving over her shoulder at Andrew. “Have a good evening.”

 

Ryan stands where she leaves him, too surprised to be aware of how hard he suddenly is. God, his wife is amazing. Is he an awful person? Would he let her do the same? Now is not the right time to think about that. 

 

Andrew is looking at him, worrying on his lower lip. 

 

“C’mon,” Ryan holds out his hand to help Andrew up. “Take me home.”

 

***

 

They barely make it to Andrew’s hotel room with all of their clothes on. Andrew has some trouble remembering where his room is when they find themselves alone in the elevator and Ryan takes the opportunity to shove him forcefully up against one of the walls, crushing their mouths together hungrily. God, he wants this. He knew before he arrived at the award show that a kiss was going to be a slippery slope, but he was never going to allow himself to think that Ryan felt the same. But the other man’s desperate, heavy kisses and his roaming hands beneath Andrew’s suit jacket convince him otherwise. 

 

Honestly, Andrew doesn’t know if he’s ever felt this wanted. 

 

His jacket is on the floor before the hotel door is closed behind them, and his body is slammed once again up against the nearest surface, Ryan heated and hard and rough in his touches. 

 

“You really want me, don’t you?” Andrew slurs slightly, pulling at Ryan’s tie, fitting in the words between kisses.

 

“Christ, Andy,” Ryan growls, as though deeply frustrated by the question. “You want me to prove it?”

 

Andrew lets out a soft cry of surprise when Ryan’s hand presses between his legs, cupping his cock all too briefly before his fingers are working on the buttons and zips. 

 

“Tell me you’ve thought about it, too?” Ryan demands, slipping his hand in between trousers and underwear, making Andrew whimper. “Tell me you’ve thought about this since you came for me the other night.”

 

“I have, of course I have,” Andrew manages to rasp, his body arching towards the touch, hands blindly running over Ryan’s chest, needing any kind of contact he can get. 

 

“Thought about having my cock in your mouth?” Ryan asks, pulling Andrew’s underwear down enough to wrap his fingers around his erection. “Think you can take it all?” 

 

He’s relentless, he doesn’t pause, his hand beginning to move up and down. 

 

Andrew’s head slams back against the wall and he moans loudly, his fingers gripping Ryan’s shoulders and upper arms, unable to say anything aside from a stream of whimpers.

 

“Answer me,” Ryan prompts, leaning in and touching his mouth to Andrew’s throat, kissing up to his jaw before their lips meet again, softly this time. Surprisingly softly. It takes Andrew’s breath away more than anything else they’ve done. “Andy?”

 

“I’ll try,” Andrew whispers, one of his hands venturing down, fingers running along the hard shape of Ryan’s dick. He’s trembling slightly as he undoes Ryan’s trousers, never having interacted with an erection that wasn’t his own. Ryan’s hand stills, though his breathing picks up, faster little puffs against Andrew’s neck that culminate in a moan when Andrew’s fingers immediately push all fabric aside and wrap around his cock. “You’re big,” he purrs, teasing, trying a few slow strokes and enjoying the repeated moans he gets. “I don’t know if you’ll fit.”

 

Ryan’s mouth is covering his own again almost before he’s finished the sentence, a dirty, rough kiss that makes Andrew throb in Ryan’s hand. Ryan’s thumb runs over his head, and Andrew’s knees buckle slightly. 

 

“You want me- you want me to-?” Andrew stutters, trying to match the strokes of Ryan’s hand with his own. 

 

“No,” Ryan replies, his free hand cupping Andrew’s jaw tenderly. “No. I wouldn’t last. I wanna last.”

 

“Bed?” Andrew asks, only able to get that one word out, and Ryan doesn’t even reply, simply nodding his head and moving back.

 

He crosses the room to the bed, shedding his clothes as he goes, jacket, shoes, trousers, and underwear, dropping onto the bed in just his shirt and his undone tie, his hand moving between his legs to touch himself.

 

Andrew follows, drawn irresistibly, slowly stripping the clothes from his lower body whilst Ryan watches, lips parted, his eyes dark and hungry. He reaches out a hand to meet Andrew, sliding over his hip and his belly, pushing up the bottom of his shirt and admiring the dips of his abs. Andrew’s cock twitches against his stomach, the head glistening, but he doesn’t touch back despite the fact that Ryan is slowly stroking himself, fingers twisting around his shaft. 

 

“I want you,” Ryan whispers, slipping his hand back down and around to Andrew’s arse, pulling him forward.

 

Andrew stumbles, the words and the touch weakening his knees, landing them either side of Ryan’s thighs. Now that they’re close again it seems only sensible for them to kiss, their lips seeking each other without another word. Again it’s softer than Andrew anticipates, gentler, despite Ryan groping his arse in a way that convinces Andrew it’s an erogenous zone he never knew about. 

 

“God, I want you, too,” Andrew replies, their lips ghosting over each other intimately, filling him with a sense of contentment that shatters into something a lot more intense when Ryan’s hand wraps around his erection again. Around both of them. Their cocks slide together between Ryan’s fingers, and Andrew moans, his own fingers stroking their way up Ryan’s neck and into his hair.

  
  


A shiver runs through Ryan. He’s completely enamoured by Andrew’s nervousness, by how gentle everything is despite how badly both of them want each other. That want should be a warning sign, but Ryan is finding it easy to ignore anything that isn’t Andrew’s cock or arse, or his lips or fingers. He’d love to spread Andrew out on the bed, rip off his shirt, and jack himself off all over that gorgeous stomach. He’d  _ absolutely _ love to wrap Andrew’s legs around his waist and rub against him. Or push into him. Andrew’s never been with a man, he’d be so tight, Ryan would have to go so slowly-

 

His cock is leaking as he strokes them both. Andrew’s breathing is more ragged, his fingers scratching gently at Ryan’s scalp. He still doesn’t want to come. He doesn’t want to come yet because then he’ll have no excuse to stay, and then he’s gone. He’s away filming, he won’t see Andrew- 

 

Andrew. Jesus. Ryan wasn’t expecting this. 

 

“Ryan-” he hears his lover whimper, feels the trembles starting in his thighs and the muscles clenching in his arse. “Ryan, I’m getting close.”

 

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees, removing his hand from Andrew’s firm backside and starting to undo the buttons of the other man’s shirt. “I wanna come on you.”

 

“Hngh,” Andrew replies. 

 

“Remember the mess you made on yourself the other night?” Ryan whispers, dragging his nails down Andrew’s bared chest. He’s so toned and smooth and Ryan is completely enamoured. He wants to run his mouth all over that skin, bite him, leave a mark, suck bruises in constellations across his body. “I’m gonna do that to you.”

 

“Yes,” Andrew manages again. Ryan feels the precome from both of them on his fingers, making them both slick so that his hand can move faster. His free hand returns to Andrew’s arse, massaging the tight muscles, groping him shamelessly.

 

Andrew is whimpering still. Ryan knew he would. It’s a beautiful sound, along the ragged breathing, and the grip Andrew has on his head and the way they’re almost kissing but not quite because they’re both so close-

 

“You there?” Ryan rasps, his strokes slightly more erratic as his orgasm begins to build quickly. “I’m coming, sweetheart. I’m- yes-”

 

He pulls Andrew closer, angling them so that both of their cocks release over the other man’s chest and stomach. Every pulse is pure pleasure, it’s so intense that Ryan forgets how to breath, forgets how tightly he’s gripping Andrew’s backside, forgets everything but Andrew’s name, which rolls so easily off of his tongue over and over. 

 

Their lips meet in a slow, burning kiss that makes goosebumps rise on Ryan’s skin. His fingers unwrap gently from around them, hums of moans echoing in both of their throats. His hand joins the other on Andrew’s bottom, pulling him closer slightly. Andrew is soft and boneless and moves  as instructed, his body trembling.

 

Now all Ryan wants to do is take them both into the shower, wash them up, and tuck them into bed. He doesn’t want to leave, and that gives him his first pang of guilt, though it’s towards Andrew and not his wife. 

 

“You’re beautiful, and I want you,” Ryan whispers, eyes closed, trying to absorb every moment. This is over now. This has to be over now. Blake might allow an hour of indulgence, but there can’t be any more, because Ryan is dangerously close to having a lot of feelings for this man, and that isn’t going to be fair on anyone. 

 

Andrew shifts gently in his lap and lets out a little sigh. 

 

It’s as close to goodbye as they’ll allow each other.

**Author's Note:**

> *Addition the second, I don't know why all of my fics at the moment end up with everyone being desperately broken hearted and alone for the most part. Or why I'm finding it so much fun to torture Ryan. I apologise for that, and can only promise that I just want everyone to be happy. So they will be, dammit! Eventually.


End file.
